


Friends & Lovers

by TarnishedArmour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 10+ years after the travesty called an epilogue, A/U...maybe, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9578324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TarnishedArmour/pseuds/TarnishedArmour
Summary: After nearly thirty years, friends find out there may be more, and lovers find out why it wasn't enough to last.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for the Fortnight Foray Challenge on Granger Enchanted. *sniffle*  
> Week 2 Prompt: lyrics by J. Collins from Since You've Asked
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely AuntieL. Did I mention she's incredibly patient, too?
> 
> Oh, and I don't own HP. I also make no $ from this fic. Or any other. Just sayin'.

**July 27, 2019; 21 years after the Final Battle**

**We have seen a million stars  
Lying by the water**

“Harry, really,” Hermione protested as Harry insisted she come outside with him to look at the summer night sky. “We've seen these same stars a thousand times! There's nothing new, no special astronomical event – not even a magically significant convergence. It's still too hot out. Let's stay in.”

“It's not about the stars, Hermione,” he replied patiently as he continued to drag her out the back door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. When he got her out into the small garden, he stopped, but he didn't let go of her hand.

“The night sky isn't about the stars?” she asked, voice starting to rise the way it did when he was truly beginning to irritate her. “How can the night sky not be about the bloody stars? That's all that's up there!”

“Well, there's a moon, too, you know,” he teased. Only he would ignore the warning in that slightly shrill voice. Then again, after almost thirty years of friendship, he knew her nearly as well as she knew herself. He had some leeway yet.

“Harry!” she snapped, lips going thin, eyes narrowing. This time, he smiled that charming, I-have-a-surprise-for-you smile. She melted a bit inside, but tried to keep her eyes narrow and her face disapproving.

“It's not about the _stars_ , Hermione, it's about the vastness of the universe, everything there is left to see and do and understand,” he said, voice just this side of pleading. “It's about looking into the reflection pool I had installed in memory of Sirius, and seeing that universe reflected back again – infinity doubled back on itself in the depths of still water.” He touched the side of her face, lightly, so lightly. “It's seeing those same stars in your eyes, knowing there's another universe inside of you that I haven't seen. Forgive me?”

Hermione's stubbornness evaporated with barely a snivel. Of all the men she knew – and the preponderance of people she knew were men – only Harry could say something like that and not come off a fool, a sycophant, or a poorly-advised lover. She sat down by the reflection pool and looked up at her oldest friend.

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed. “I was never really mad at you.”

He didn't say he knew – even though he did – but instead gave her his sweet smile again and sat beside her. After a few minutes of straining their necks to look up, they stretched out on the sides of the pool, heads close together at one corner, bodies stretched along the sides. 

“There's the North Star,” Harry said softly.

“That one's easy to find,” Hermione replied. 

“Not always.” Lying beside the pool, not looking at her, he decided to say something that had been on his mind for some time. “When I was going through the divorce, it wasn't easy to find it. I needed a way to tell what direction I was going in, if it was the right one, and, even though I was out here looking at the stars almost every night, I hardly ever found the North Star.”

“Your direction then was metaphorical, love,” she chided gently. “The North Star can't help you with that.”

“No,” he mused aloud, “but you did. Every time I've needed to find my way, you've been there for me, Hermione. Always.” He turned and moved to look into her face. “You are my North Star. I've always known it, I think, but I've never realized it.” He paused. “Well, acknowledged may be a better word.”

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, staring up at her friend, “what are you saying?”

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. “The truth as I see it, I suppose.”

He fell silent again, and lay back down to watch the stars above in their nightly dance across the sky. Hermione didn't say anything else, loathe to break this peace with the thousand questions she was trying so very hard not to ask. Something delicate had been breached, or perhaps built, in those words, and she didn't know what to do about it.

***  
 **December 14, 2019; 21 years after the Final Battle**

**You have climbed the hills with me  
To the mountain shelter**

 

“So it's final, then,” Harry asked over dinner several months later.

Hermione nodded. “The papers are signed, the possessions divvied up – the children were just happy to stay out of it and that we don't yell at each other anymore.” She shook her head. “Why did we stay married this long? We separated nearly two years ago, but just never...” She looked down at her plate and swirled her fork pointlessly in her mashed potatoes. “I love Ron, and I know he loves me, but we just didn't work together. Not the right way.”

“You were just as stubborn as Ginny and I were,” her replied evenly. “You have to admit, we all have our moments of pigheadedness, and when we all decide to be pigheaded about the same things at the same time...”

“Complete and utter disaster,” she laughed, grimacing. “Merlin, how well I know that!”

“So Hugo and Rose are doing well?” The kids were always a concern for Harry, and Hermione knew that they always would be. Some parts of his childhood would never let go of him, and making sure that those who couldn't take care of themselves or were inclined to be ignored – like children – were doing well in difficult times was one.

“Yes. It helps that they're both out on their own and have been since before we started the divorce proceedings. Hugo finished Hogwarts this spring and moved in with Rose in their little flat in Glasgow. They're maybe a little sad about not having the old holidays and such, but, well, they're not stupid. Things have been bad for a long, long time, and I think they're glad that Ron and I get to start again, without the fighting and arguing.” Hermione took a sip of her wine. “What about yours? I imagine Lily and Al are taking it hard.”

“Actually, Jamie is being a complete prat about it all, and Lily and Al are perfectly fine with it all. It's been nearly three years and Jamie still barely talks to either of us.” He sighed, ran his hand through his hair and received the obligatory frown from his friend for playing with his hair at the dinner table. Lily had finished Hogwarts the same year as Rose, and James had been born not long after the wedding. “Sorry. But things were bad those last five years – really bad.” 

“I know. You don't have to go into it,” she assured him. She'd heard many things from him over the years about his marriage, but really Ron got to hear everything. It had been enough to cause a rift between Ron and Ginny – not that they were particularly close to begin with. Not even adventures and fighting together could resolve the problems between the only girl and the last, somewhat ignored, son.

“Yeah, I mean, no, I don't, but... _Muffliato_ ,” he whispered. “I never said how bad it got. We'd fight nearly every day. We had separate bedrooms for the last ten years. Ten years – and she wouldn't let me near her for even longer. The things she said... Thank God you warded the kids' rooms.” Green eyes filled with pain. “She even said there was something going on between us, accused us of having an affair.”

“No!” Hermione gasped. “She never said – or with her temper did – or anything to me!”

“Well, she wouldn't would she?” His voice was bitter now, the old hurt welling up from deep within. “She had to be the perfect wife to the world, but for me? Alone? She hated me before Lily was born. Accused me of turning her into a brood mare and trying to get a Quidditch team off her – and then she started in on her mother's choices.”

“Oh my God,” Hermione whispered.

“I never realized how much she hated The Burrow. I knew she shopped too much, put too much emphasis on material things, but I didn't mind. Not like I was scraping for Knuts. She wanted to play professional Quidditch, and as soon as the kids could be left with a nanny, she did.” His jaw clenched. “She spent more damned time with her team than our kids. When she was around, she was constantly on me about everything – and I'm not exaggerating.” He shook his head, sipped his wine. “I know being an Auror's wife is hard – “

“It's not that hard, Harry,” Hermione firmly ended that line of thought. “I did it for almost twenty years myself. Raised two kids mostly on my own because of Ron's schedule – call-outs, long investigations, short hours at home, spending some time in the pub to get rid of the day because he couldn't bear to bring it home to us and he couldn't let go without something to distract him. I know it all, Harry. I know all the little tricks the wives use to stay sane, too.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “You did nothing wrong in that respect. You aren't perfect, and I'm sure you bollixed up your fair share of things, but you aren't a bad man and you are _not_ a horrible father and you were _never_ a horrible excuse for a husband.” Despite the low volume, her voice was fierce. After everything, he still had problems with taking on guilt and responsibilities that didn't belong to him, and she worked hard to make sure he knew what wasn't his fault. Occasionally, she would put a rather harsh point on what _was_ his fault, but that was a rare need. “I've seen you many times with the kids, and not for scheduled visits with old friends. Have you forgotten the way we'd just pop in to see each other?”

“Of course not,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “Highlight of my days, usually.”

“Well, then, trust me when I tell you something like that.” Her voice had slipped into her snippy know-it-all tones, the ones she still used with Ron and Harry – the ones that she had used so many times with them in school.

“Yes, Professor Granger,” he teased, his eyes showing real gratitude that he couldn't make himself voice. She nodded and turned her attention to her plate again. He did the same.

After dinner, Harry looked over at her. “Take dessert to go?” he asked. 

“What do you have in mind?” she asked, curious as ever.

“A little walk in the park. Thought we could watch the stars for a bit.”

“Sounds good,” she said, looking into his green eyes, wondering if she would see the stars and discover the universe inside him tonight. There was a bit of a poet in him, though hardly anyone would believe the Head Auror was anything other than a man of action and, occasionally, a sense of humour. A universe of inside her – the words had stuck with her, and she wondered where that had come from and what it had meant, really. 

They took their dessert in little boxes that the waiter shrank down to fit in Harry's pocket, durability and stability charms on the boxes keeping the contents from getting squished or destroyed in transit, and Harry paid with a tap from his wand on his signature and vault designation.

“You don't have to pay, Harry,” Hermione chided.

“You know I enjoy it,” he replied, not trying to remind her of his miserable childhood. He couldn't be blamed for her perception, or for her stray thought that Ron was much the same about that. 

They walked outside, and Hermione looked around. “Harry, where is this park? I don't see it.”

“Er, it's not exactly here in Diagon Alley,” he replied, a bit sheepish. “Take my hand?”

“Side-Along?” she whimpered. She didn't love Apparation, but she _hated_ Side-Along Apparation. It was almost a passionate hate, but, when dealing with modes of transportation, she reserved her passionate hatred for broomsticks. Getting her to fly was more difficult than breaking into Gringotts – after all, they'd done that, but in the past twenty-odd years, she had not once gotten on a “damned flying stick with twigs of death at the back end,” not even with the kids. Only outrunning FiendFyre in the Room of Requirement had gotten her on a broomstick, and only outrunning FiendFyre in an enclosed space without the ability to Apparate would get her on one again – an assertion that Everyone Who Mattered had heard more than once.

“Trust me,” he cajoled, his hand still out and his eyes so, so sweet. He had a surprise for her, and she wanted to know what it was. He still got to her with that look and by poking at her curious nature. If she ever really stopped to think about it, and she never, ever did, she might realize that that look and her curious nature could lead her to doing anything for him. Given what she'd already done, well, there wasn't much left for her to do this side of legal, moral, and ethical.

She did trust him, of course, so she slipped her hand into his and, a few moments of disorientation later, found herself looking at a park in Ireland. 

“Where are we?” she asked. 

“Croagh Patrick, southern...I think west coast of Ireland,” Harry replied, pointing to the steep climb up the mountain. He ignored her wince, knowing that the coordinates were more than enough to Apparate, and his exact mapping skills form the coordinates were a bit sketchy when dealing with more than executing a raid or rescue plan. “Salvation is that way, if you're interested.”

“The sign says it's closed,” she pointed out, reading the posted signs as she did and Harry tended to forget to do. Apparently, it was the off-season for salvation. “And it's dangerous to climb at night, anyway.”

“We're not on pilgrimage, and we're not climbing the entire way. Don't let go,” he warned. Another quick Apparation and they were nearly three-quarters of the way up the mountain. “From here, we climb. _Lumos Umbra_ ,” he said, and a faint red light shone from the tip of his wand, bright enough to see without calling attention to them or ruining their night-vision.

“Never cease to amaze me... Hairbrained – harebrained – schemes... Sense of a rabbit... A hairball for a brain... Adventures... End up in the hospital wing... Basilisk coming out of nowhere...” Hermione's monologue wasn't very loud, but it was constant. She knew he could hear at least parts of it. That was part of the satisfaction of grumbling, after all.

Harry grinned at the bits of her complaints that made it to his ears, but didn't bother to reply. His Hermione, fussing to the end. Why, when Death came for her, she'd probably fuss at him for tatty robes and not coming exactly when she'd scheduled...and who needed a scythe these days?

They climbed to the top in good order, and stopped at the little chapel. Harry wasn't breathing hard, but Hermione was a creature of desks and research for the Ministry and various businesses that could afford her. She never had been an athelete.

“Closed,” she grumped, panting. “You dragged me all the way up here for a _closed_ chapel.” The sign on the door said as much, giving a date for when salvation and forgiveness could once again be achieved with the scaling of a mountain and several hours in prayer or at mass. She gave him an indignant look. “I'm not even Catholic!”

Harry laughed. “Ow!” he said when she smacked him a few times on the shoulder and arm. “Be careful, woman!”

“Hmph!” Hermion stopped beating on him and turned to face the closed chapel in a snit. A small snit was still a snit, and it was imperative that Harry know he was In The Doghouse or at least Heading For The Doghouse At A Rapid Pace.

“The chapel isn't what I wanted to show you, either. Look over there,” he said pointing just a little way behind the chapel. His voice was low and, when she wasn't looking, he had come up behind her, so close his lips brushed her ear as he spoke. 

“Oh,” Hermione whispered, staring at the tiny cottage. “It looks positively ancient.” She said that because it was true, yes, but also because that little 'oh' had been only partially because of the cottage and mostly because Harry's lips had brushed her ear and his voice had been intimately pitched – almost a lover's voice. She wasn't quite sure what to do with that thought.

“It is.” He took her hand and led her over to the cottage, walking in through the open door and lighting the fire in the firepit. “It's been here for nearly five thousand years, in various forms. Local witches say it's the cottage where the Sidhe would meet with mortal lovers, but local wizards say it's where the young wizards would steal away Muggle girls and make sure to send them home pregnant with a wizarding child. The histories say that it's a wayfarer's cottage, meant to shelter any who travel from territory to territory within the Isle, and legend says it's the place where the first banshee was spotted by Liam, the Coward of the O'Bannon.”

“This isn't O'Bannon territory,” Hermione objected.

“Didn't I just say this was a wayfarer's cottage?” he teased. He took dessert out of his pocket and set it on the table, re-enlarged it, and produced two small plates and enlarged them, too. As he served, she continued the conversation.

“You also said it was the local make-out spot,” she replied dryly.

“I did, didn't I?” he replied, with a boyish grin. He gave her her plate and extended his flask. It wasn't the usual flask for liquor, but a special flask George had designed for him. It held a pot's worth of coffee, kept it hot and fresh all day, and, when coupled to a specific coffee-pot, would refill itself as often as needed. He could even have his coffee prepared exactly the way he preferred, but he liked it plain. Fortunately, so did Hermoine, so she accepted the flask and took a sip.

Putting the flask between them on the table, Hermione laughed. “Just hand me a spoon, Potter. I'm not giving up my cheesecake in order to indulge your hashed-up version of histories for this place.”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” he intoned. “Doomed to merely eat dessert and remain silent at the bidding of the lady of the cottage...”

Hermione discovered that trying to snort with a mouth full of cheesecake did not work out very well, but it didn't matter. She and Harry were laughing, free and clear the both of them, for the first time in what seemed like forever.

***  
 **May 21, 2021; 23 years after the Final Battle**

**Taking off the days**

Hermione watched out the window as the rain fell softly onto her garden. It wasn't that she loved the garden or found it tranquil, but the village where she made her home had gardens at every house, and her little cottage was no different. It was quiet here, with Hugo and Rose sharing a little flat in Glasgow, Ron off with his new girl. Nearly a year and six months had passed since her divorce was final, just over five for Harry's, and she didn't begrudge Ron his happiness with...whatever her name was. 

Strange, though, how they could get along now, after the divorce, the way they had as children – constantly in touch, in one another's pockets, even during the separation. Harry was constantly with them, all three or just two. Their children were befuddled at the change in the relationship that existed among the three and finally saw why they were called the Golden Trio so many years before. In fact, one of the less gossip-laden and more serious publications had dusted off that old name after they were seen laughing outside Fortescue's Too, the reincarnation of the famous ice cream shop by a cousin of the original proprietor. Rose had mentioned to her mother that it was amazing how well she and Ron got on, now that they didn't live together.

A little sigh escaped her at the thought. Yes, that was the heart of it all – she and Ron worked very well together, as long as they didn't live together. Until he'd met his little fluff, they'd even rekindled the flame sexually, and it had been incredible. Quite possibly the best sex they'd ever had had come after the divorce. He was still fit, and he'd no reason to hide behind a towel in the locker room, either. Add to that the fact he had been her first and only lover and she his, their explorations that had been made together, and there really wasn't any surprise that they worked so well together. Getting pregnant with Rose had been unexpected and the hasty marriage upon finding out, well, marry in haste, repent at leisure.

It hadn't all been bad, but it certainly wasn't good. Ron's career as an Auror had taken off, and Hermione's position as independent consultant for the Ministry – a coveted position that existed only because she couldn't stay at a desk all day and her early stages of pregnancy made it nearly impossible for her to use any form of Wizarding transportation – and life had been very good for the first six years or so. Only after Hugo did the stresses and strains begin tearing at them both, and, though they worked to keep the kids out of their arguments, they were perceptive little pitchers with very big, extendable ears.

The day somehow matched her mood. Grey and dull, nothing to regret, but nothing to find joy in, either. She loved the rain, usually, but today it just seemed to drive home how very _alone_ she was now. Hot tea and a good book on a rainy day didn't have quite the appeal after one had spent days exactly like this one with a hot man and a good half-dozen excellent shags and even more orgasms. Walking had been interesting after, but the complete descent into hedonism...that had made the days that followed so much easier to bear. 

The last time they'd done that, well, had been after the divorce – the same day, less than an hour after leaving the courtroom and having lunch together. Somehow, without the trappings of marriage keeping them leashed in tight, they had found that same sense of adventure that had gotten them into so much mischief and heart-stopping, terrifying danger so long ago. They'd spoken of fantasies, and fulfilled them. They'd tried positions and places that, after children were old enough to toddle around, hadn't been attempted. They'd even had a go behind the Leaky late one night, where anyone could walk through to the entrance to Diagon Alley, and she'd come so hard and long at that little foray in to exhibitionism that Ron had had to book a room for the night. Morning saw them at it again, like rabbits. 

Why couldn't that last? After the kids, after marriage, why couldn't they keep that wild little flame building between them? With a huff and a shake of her head, Hermione determined to leave this train of thought and focus her attention on what she could do here and now – and, sadly, Ron, being a who and not a what, wasn't on the list.

The Floo activated, and Harry came through. He strode gracefully into the room, the old stumbling, disoriented boy that had barely managed to remain upright after Floo travel long gone. 

“Everything alright, love?” he asked, taking in her expression.

“Just a little down. It's the rain.” She shrugged, then walked over to hug him. She didn't mention it was also the lack of good sex. “So, you here for any particular reason?”

“Not really. Just got through talking with Ron – he's single again. The fluffy twit couldn't hold up a conversation that wasn't about her looks, her clothes, or her diet.” At Hermione's choked-off laugh he continued. “Not that she needed to diet, mind. Looked about as healthy as a Walking Stick, with less fat on her. No curves at all.” Hermione openly snickered. “In fact,” he said, scratching his chin with a 'deep thought' face in place, “She rather reminded me of a broom...”

Hermoine howled. “Village broom?” she hacked out between gasps for breath and shrieks of laughter. She didn't laugh about people as a rule, but Ron dating some skinny twig when he loved her curves, especially her generous breasts and rather larger-than-it-should-be bum? It was funny.

“Quite possibly.” He grew serious. “One of the reasons was she propositioned me _and ___one of Ron's brothers _at The Burrow_.”

_Hermione stopped laughing and stared. Now that was just not on!_

_“Stupid girl propositioned _Bill_. Three days before a full moon.” Harry's voice was grim. “Mercifully, Fleur was out with Charlie's wife and their kids.”_

_“My God.” Hermoine whispered. Bill was a good man, but Greyback's scratches and bite had left him considerably less laid-back-cool and intensely possessive of his wife and family. When one was threatened, the changes in his eyes and the unconscious magic he threw off... She shuddered at the thought._

_“We got her away from him and Charlie took him out for a run. It was a neary thing, though.”_

_“Wait.” Hermione just realized what all of this meant. “Ron took her to meet everyone? He had to know it would go badly.” Why would he have done something like that?_

_“Yeah. About two weeks ago. You can guess how it went over.” He grimaced. “Even Ginny couldn't stand her, and Ginny's able to stand a number of truly ghastly people.”_

_“So, are you and Ginny speaking again?” she asked softly, not wanting to dig into a wound that was still, she supposed, tender._

_She also didn't want to talk about Ron taking another woman around to a family gathering. Hermione had been invited, of course, but two weeks ago she had been deep in a project for Arcane Enchantments and had just managed to secure limited-time access to the Nott family library. Molly had understood, and sent her a basket of food and well-wishes from the gathered Weasleys, instead. It hadn't been easy to get everyone to understand her need to keep a career, but Molly was able to accept it and even assist her many times with research and child care. It helped that she was working from home, able to set her own schedule, and had been a devoted wife and mother._

_“Mostly. We keep it civil, but there's no disguising the fact that we're glad we're rid of one another. The kids are doing better – Jamie started speaking to me again during Christmas, but I figure one of his uncles got hold of him and called him on it. He's still...” The sentence wasn't finished. It would never be finished, she knew. He ran his hand through his hair. “How'd we get so fucked up, 'Min?” he asked, clearly frustrated._

_“I don't know, Harry,” she sighed. She was sorry that Ron's fluff had been such a bad choice, but maybe she'd see him a little later for some cheering up. Realizing how completely off that line of thinking was, she said, “I really don't know.”_

_Harry walked over and hugged her. “Well,” he whispered in her ear, “not everything is.”_

_Hermione wrapped her arms around him and snuggled close. Harry and Ron gave the best hugs, and it was completely intoxicating when they were both hugging her at the same time. That hadn't happened in a long time, though._

_So many hugs since those odd days when she wasn't sure what Harry was trying to tell her – if anything. So many hugs, talks, meals... She turned her face to look at him, not knowing he was about to kiss her cheek. Their lips met, their eyes flew wide, and then...they relaxed into one another and kissed. The slow caress of lips and tongues made her light-headed with pleasure, and still the kiss went on._

_“Merlin,” she breathed when they finally parted._

_“Why didn't we do that before?” Harry murmured, looking down into her eyes. His next words sent a bolt of something sweet and hot through her. “Why not do it again?”_

_With that, his lips again found hers, and neither one noticed when the Floo activated behind them. This time, when the kiss ended, Hermione saw her ex-husband standing in front of the hearth._

_“Oh!” she squeaked._

_Harry turned, saw Ron, and promptly looked like a stranded codfish, mouth moving to no avail._

_“'M I interrupting something?” Ron asked with a grin._

_“No,” Hermione said quickly, the she looked at Harry. “Well, yes.” She looked over at Ron again, then at Harry. “Maybe?” she finally decided, voice unsure in a way it hadn't been in years._

_“It's all right, love,” Ron said, coming over to hug her. “Close your mouth, Harry,” he teased Harry. “We are not a codfish.” The quote from one of his favourite children's movies got Harry to give him a lopsided grin._

_“Sorry about whatshername,” Harry offered._

_Ron waved it off. “Nah. There was nothing serious between us. I'd say she was just a bit of fun, but, well, she wasn't.” He rolled his eyes. “At all.”_

_“So why did you bother with her?” Hermione asked, curious. The relationship had lasted over six months, not insignificant._

_“Not sure, really. She was light-hearted, relaxed – quite the flirt at first. Then, she was just...there.” Ron looked over at Hermione, and she grimaced in return. That had been part of their problem. “Then she was bloody annoying and,” he gave a wicked grin, “I took her to meet everyone in order to scare her off. Worked like a charm.”_

_Hermione and Harry laughed. They really should have known that he'd have a strategy to get rid of the girl without making it his fault or hers particularly. This way, he could blame relatives, she could pout about impossible families to her friends, and no one was worse for wear._

_“You two going to give it a go, then?” Ron asked softly._

_“We haven't – “_

_“It was just – “_

_“Stop. Just stop,” he said, shaking his head. “There's no reason for you not to, and I'm not jealous. Hell, why would I be?”_

_Harry and Hermione stared at him, surprised._

_“Don't look at me like that. I'm not seventeen anymore, and neither are you lot. I never worried about the two of you getting a leg over while we were married, and I've no right to be now. In fact,” he said, looking at his friends, “might do you some good.”_

_Harry took a breath, then looked at Hermione. “I...I'll talk to you later, right?” he said. And with that, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice-and-Became-Head-Auror, turned tail and ran home via Floo._

_“Do us some good?” Hermione asked Ron, not sure whether she should be insulted or not._

_“Yeah,” he said, going over to hug her. “Do the lot of us good, actually,” he added, leaning down to kiss her. Hermione groaned into the kiss. “Can't tell you how many times I wanked off to the thought of watching you together,” he whispered when the kiss ended. When her eyes grew wide with surprise, he picked her up, carried her to her bedroom, and lay her down on her bed._

_“Thinking about it now, actually.” He started working off her clothes, arranging her on the bed. “Seeing you spread out like that – open your legs a bit more, love.” He stood at the end of the bed and started working his belt, staring at her splayed out in front of him, wanton and wicked. “Watching Harry's eyes go wide when he sees how fucking perfect you are. Watching you arch back the way you do when he kisses your clit for the first time.” He leaned in and kissed her clit, then began to tease her with his tongue._

_Hermione arched her back just they way he said and moaned for him. She was getting so hot and wet. He managed to do this to her every time. From witch to whore in thirty syllables flat._

_“Watching him push into you,” all this time Ron had been suiting actions to words, and he did so now to devastating effect, “feeling how fucking tight you still are – could be a virgin, you could. Circe's tits, you feel good, honey.”_

_“Ron, oh, God, Ron...I want that...want to feel you watching, feel him inside...” She was lifting to meet him, every slow, delicious thrust. “So good...so good...”_

_“You are such a slut for me,” he whispered, “always so close from a little dirty talk...that's it sweetheart, tighten up for me like that...damn, you feel better than I remembered. Play with your clit.” Hermione snaked one hand down between them and started rubbing furiously. “Slow down. Take it slow. Want you to last – ah, ah. None of that. Take it slow or I tie you up and make you wait.”_

_“Oh, God, RON!” Hermione begged, eyes wild and needy._

_“You want me to tie you up?” He paused, reached for his wand, grinning because she hadn't even registered he was still fully clothed in his Auror's robes. A quick spell, and Hermione was trussed up tight, legs held open, arms pinned above her head, even her hips were lifted and held immobile for him. “That better?”_

_She couldn't manage words, so she moaned softly and nodded vigorously._

_“You gonna scream for me, sweet little slut?” he asked, starting to thrust into her again._

_Hermione nodded again. She found her voice. “Make me beg, Ron,” she whispered. “Make me beg and beg...”_

_Laughing softly, Ron turned his attention to the witch tied up so nicely in front of him, and did exactly as she asked. By the time he had finished and driven her high twice more then let her come down, she had been begging and pleading for nearly an hour._

_Ron looked down at his ex-wife, his best friend's potential lover, and smiled gently. She was so beautiful like this, exhausted and falling asleep right after she came for him more than once, each time hard and long and screaming. What a pity he wouldn't be able to do this much longer. He'd never come between her had Harry, but he'd miss this. He spelled off his clothes and robes and heard them fall heavily in a corner of the room, wet with sweat and more, and stretched out beside her to hold her. Maybe he'd even give Harry some tips on how to make her beg and scream...and writhe._

_Then again, maybe Harry should find out for himself, especially about her little discipline fetish. What a shame he hadn't known about that years ago..._

_Hermione woke slowly, feeling familiar, heavy arms wrapped around her and a familiar, hard cock pressing against her bum. She grinned as she pushed back, getting a little thrust in return. Slowly, she moved one leg over his, guiding him inside her. Ron was always rough with her when he woke up inside her, and she wanted...well, she wanted rough right now. Making love was all well and good, but there was something about a rough, hands-and-knees fuck that made her feel wanted. Needed. Like if he couldn't have her _right then_ , hard and fast, he'd explode from want._

_“Fuck, witch,” Ron said, pushing her over and pulling her hips up. “All you had to do was ask for it.”_

_Hermione grinned into her pillow and felt the first hard thrusts bottoming out with a delicious little pain._

_“Where's the fun in that?” she gasped as he rode her hard and fast, taking his pleasure and leaving her wanting. She mewed in need as he shuddered against her, and gasped when the first swat to her arse connected._

_“Naughty witch,” Ron scolded. “Took me fifteen minutes to finish, so that means thirty for you. Count them!”_

_Hermione did, shivering as each hard spank found a new spot on her arse. Then he, the wicked, devious wizard, moved to the side and she howled as his hand came down on the sensitive join of thigh and bum. The last two swats were just hard enough to sting, focused on her dripping slit. His fingers slipped over her soaking skin immediately, finding her button and rubbing it hard and fast. She came with a sound that she hadn't known she could make._

_“Fuck, Ron,” she panted, collapsing back into the mattress. “Why weren't we ever this good before?”_

_Ron was quiet for a long minute. “We were clocking time, I think, just counting off the days of kids and work.” He pulled her close and she snuggled into him. “I don't think I learned to appreciate you until after you were gone. Now that I do, now that I know I've lost you, every minute I get to spend with you like this is a little bit of paradise.” He kissed her sweaty forehead and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I didn't know what to do with you then, love. I do now.” He kissed her lips softly._

_“What is that, Ron?” she asked, voice soft, eyes worried._

_“I have to let you go.” He shushed her when she would have protested. “I have to let you go, let you find your way with Harry. Don't try to tell me you aren't sure if he'll even look at you – we both know he will. It may take him a few days of brooding and angst, but he'll find his way back to you. He always has.” He brushed her hair from her forehead and cheek, moving the sweaty strands back into her mass of curls. “We always have.”_

_“I've always been here,” she whispered back. It was so important to her that he knew this, really knew it, even though they'd been friends for nearly thirty years – friends, lovers, husband-and-wife, exes, lovers again, but always together somehow. “You know I've always been here for you both, don't you?”_

_“Yeah,” he replied, giving her a lopsided little-boy smile, “just took me thirty years to figure out what that meant – and what a lucky bastard I am.” He kissed her gently, then just held her for a long time. “Even a lucky bastard's luck runs out,” he finally said. “I won't come back for this anymore, you know that, right?”_

_“I know,” she said with a sniffle. “I just...”_

_How could she say that she wanted Ron to stay and wanted Harry, too? She _would_ be a slut, a complete slag-hag, if she did that. Two men, her two best friends, her two oldest friends? In a relationship with her? One romantic – Harry – and one just because he knew how to get her off in ways that she never would have guessed it possible to get off? Even thinking about it made her want to send herself a Howler for being a no-good, two-wizard slut who is up to no good and cannot be counted upon as a decent, upstanding, moral example for anyone, not even sluts._

_Ron didn't say anything, just let her cry. At some point, he kissed her again, and, instead of the intense, somewhat kinky sex they had indulged in earlier, he caressed her so gently, so carefully._

_Hermione returned each caress, each kiss, and made love to her Ron for the last time._

_If tears fell, they didn't notice whose they were. Somehow, this ending was a beginning for them both, and they did everything they could to show one another how much they loved._

_***_

_**June 15, 2021; 23 years after the Final Battle** _

_**One by one** _

_They met at the Leaky, then went into Diagon Alley together, two old friends catching up on the week. That lasted long enough for them to get back to Grimmauld Place, and that was when Harry's little nervous tics went into overdrive._

_“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked, trying to get him to say something._

_“I...I don't know how to say it, Hermione. I just...I want...I need to...I want...” He stopped. Looked at her. “You. I want you, and not just as a friend.”_

_“Ah.” So they'd come to it at last._

_“Ah?” he repeated incredulously. “That's all you've got to say? 'Ah?' What about our friendship? What about the kids – what about Ron? Will any of them understand? What about – mph! Mmmmm...”_

_Hermione had shut Harry up the most effective way she knew: the precise and persistent application of her lips to his. It worked beautifully._

_“Take me to bed, Harry,” she whispered to him when he leaned his forehead against hers, panting slightly. “Now.”_

_“Right,” he said, grabbing her hand and taking off for the stairs. Hermione laughed as she tried to match his pace and was just barely dragged up the stairs and to his bedroom because she was just a teensy bit slower._

_Clothing flew in all directions as the need to feel, to touch, to kiss, to lick, to _be_ one overwhelmed them both. Kisses and caresses and susurrations of need and want and love consumed them both._

_When Harry finally slid inside her, they stared into one another's eyes, love and disbelief and amazement that this was actually, really, finally happening all shining through in that moment. After a long moment, they smiled at one another, and, for the first time, Harry Potter made love to Hermione Granger._

_It felt like coming home._

_***_

_**June 16, 2021; 21 years after the Final Battle** _

_**Setting them to breathe** _

_The next day, Hermione laughed with Ron and Harry as they worked through a bunch of old photographs, picking out the ones they wanted to have duplicated to give to the kids._

_“How's this one, then?” Harry asked, holding out one of Hermione dressed for the Yule Ball in the Gryffindor common room, taken by Colin Creevy so long ago._

_“Love that picture,” Ron said, smiling softly. “Loved that dress even more. D'ya know she can still wear it? Tops a bit tighter, but...” He looked over at her. “Go put it on, love.”_

_“Ron, it's packed up in the attics here – though I'm not sure why it's here instead of at my place. Actually, a lot of my things are here.” From protest to vague confusion, the thought of dressing up for her boys was derailed by the realization she'd left possessions here at Harry's and she didn't remember why._

_Ron shrugged. “So are a lot of mine, at least from school.”_

_“Well, you both lived here, so it made sense to leave it here, and then, well, you didn't need your old textbooks and uniforms, now, did you?” Harry just tipped his head to the side. “Wonder if those old uniforms would fit, 'Min,” he teased._

_Hermione rolled her eyes at the _one_ nickname she had decided to tolerate from her boys, and groaned. “Really? You want me to put on some musty old dresses?”_

_“They're not musty,” Harry defended his house-elf immediately. “Once a year Kreacher airs everything in the attics, checks for holes and dust, cleans it all, and puts it up with whatever herbs he uses to keep things fresh and bug-free up there. They'll be in perfect condition.”_

_“You could get him to bring them down and just change in here,” Ron added, grinning. He laughed when the pillow Hermione was leaning against made sudden contact with his face. “What?”_

_“Of all the things...” she huffed. Then she grinned wickedly. “Of course, if you think you can handle a show...” There was just enough tease and challenge in her voice to catch the attention of both men and hold it._

_Harry almost swallowed his tongue. Since he was incapable of speech, he nodded._

_Ron's wicked “Definitely,” only added to the allure of the idea. They had played this game before – who would fold first?_

_“Kreacher!” Hermoine called. The surly little elf popped into the room._

_“Oh, it's _you ___,” he grumped at seeing who had summoned him._

__“Go get my dresses and school uniforms from the attic,” Hermione ordered, her love-affair with Elf Rights long since over. Nasty little things, elves. Dobby had been the exception. “Make sure they're clean and pressed. Oh, and send down my old school bag, too, with textbooks, parchment, and quills in it.” She waited until Kreacher popped away to do her bidding, and gave her boys a challenging look. “You sure you want this?”_ _

__Two eager nods, and Hermione gave them a slow smile. Somehow, everything wicked and wanton was in that smile, though it was one of her sweetest expressions. Or maybe it was the fact that she was about to fulfill a few dozen fantasies for them – and herself – that made such a sweet smile turn seductive._ _

__“Then take a seat, boys,” she purred, “and get comfortable.”_ _

__Yes, that adventurous spirit of hers was _definitely_ back for good. She picked up the next photograph and made them concentrate as much as they could on that task while they waited for Kreacher, who seemed to have no little bit of cleaning and pressing to do. If her blouse popped a button or if she suddenly needed to reach a bit more often, or to pick up a photo that had somehow slipped out of her hands and under the coffee table in the library, well, was it her fault the only way to reach it was arse-in-the-air in tight jeans?_ _

__An hour later, Hermione slipped out of her regular clothes, back to her boys, and slipped into her uniform from fourth-year. It was quite tight across the chest, but that just mean she had to leave most of her buttons undone. The skirt was indecently short, especially after having two children, and it just barely covered her to mid-thigh. The robes were pulled apart in front because the shoulders were too tight now – they'd always been more snug than she preferred at the shoulder – and her breasts were considerably larger than they'd been that year. The Gryffindor tie was loose, but the robes were more of a frame for her than any sort of covering. She Transfigured her plain ankle-socks into knee socks and her sneakers into a pair of those Mary Janes she'd worn religiously at school and turned around after charming her hair into braided pigtails._ _

__“Holy fuck,” Harry breathed._ _

__“Too right, mate,” Ron answered._ _

__She picked up her bag, slipped it over her shoulder with the strap between her breasts making her shirt gap open even more and show off a skimpy pink bra, and gave them an innocent look._ _

__“Damn, Hermione,” Harry said to her, shifting in his seat. “I take back everything I've ever said about hating school uniforms.”_ _

__Ron licked his lips, and crooned, “Give us a show, love.”_ _

__Hermione bit her lip, ducked her head and looked up at them from under lowered lashes. “Like this?” she asked, voice innocent as she lifted the hem of her skirt to tease at the top of her thigh._ _

__“A little higher,” Harry rasped._ _

__“Like this?” she asked, teasing another inch. The sweet innocence of her voice and the wickedness of her uniform combined to make Harry's voice rough and low._ _

__“Higher,” he repeated. His eyes were hot and bright, but the colour was darker than she'd ever seen._ _

__“Oh, you mean, like...this...” and she lifted her skirt to show them her silently transfigured knickers, a pair of sweet little pink things that were nearly transparent. “I'm not sure that's allowed.” She started to drop her skirt again._ _

__“You're quite right it's not allowed,” Ron growled. “Put those books down and come here, Miss Granger.”_ _

__“But, Sir,” she protested, “I only did what the Head Boy told me to do!”_ _

__“That's no excuse, Miss Granger,” Ron snapped back. “Come and take your punishment like a good little Gryffindor.”_ _

__Hermione put down her bag and walked over to Ron, approaching him timidly, like a nervous student would a disappointed teacher._ _

__“Now, lie down across my knees.”_ _

__“I don't get detention?” she yelped, eyes wide. At Harry's look of concern, she winked quickly and shook her head once. He relaxed, and she turned her attention back to her “professor.”_ _

__“No. Detentions are for rule-breaking, not for naughty witches who show their knickers on demand. Naughty witches get spankings, and that is what you are going to get. Now, across my knees!” Ron was apparently possessed by Snape, because his voice was rich, low, and sinfully wicked even while it was seductively cruel._ _

__Hermione put herself across Ron's knees, angling herself for a proper spanking, and looking up at Harry briefly. She gave him a quick look that he'd understand, the “you okay?” look. He nodded quickly, and pointed to his lap – no, the front of his trousers. He was more than okay, and probably wanted to spank her arse for himself. She would be perfectly happy with that, so she grinned at him._ _

__“Later,” she mouthed him a promise._ _

__“Head down, Miss Granger, palms on the floor. You will count. Ten, I think, for this first infraction.” That sweetly cruel voice had her squirming to obey._ _

__“Yes, Professor,” Hermione replied, in the proper tones of a nervous, about-to-be-chastened young witch._ _

__Ron's hand lifted her skirt over her bum, then pulled he snipped off her knickers with a wave of his wand. He flicked his wand again and put up a mirror for Harry. Somehow, he managed not to laugh when Harry's eyes went wide at how wet Hermione already was. “Spread your knees wider, Miss Granger.” She did. The first smack took her by surprise, and she yelped._ _

__“One, Sir.”_ _

__The second fell in a different spot, and she cried out, “Two, Sir!”_ _

__Again and again for ten good, strong spanks, she counted. By the end she was sniffling, though not actually crying. Her face was red from the effort it took to take a spanking like that, but she was not embarrassed at all._ _

__“Damn,” she breathed as she slowly lifted off of Ron's lap with help. She shifted her thighs together, groaning as the woolen skirt brushed against her skin. “I'm so damned wet...”_ _

__“Yule Ball dress,” Harry ordered. His breath was off, just barely controlled. He was working to keep his cool, and he knew she could hear it. But _Merlin's fucking cock, Beowulf's brass balls and Circe's coming cunt_ that had been incredible! “Keep your knickers off, and no bra, either.”_ _

__“Can't wear a bra with that dress,” she answered, going over to the dress. She unbuttoned her clothes and let them fall to the floor. “What do you have in mind for this dress?” she asked, a little breathless._ _

__“You'll see,” Harry replied. While she was pulling on her dress, Harry saw her bright pink arse and groaned. “Damn, I like that look on you.”_ _

__“The dress?” she asked with a grin over her shoulder._ _

__“The freshly-spanked bum,” he corrected. When her eyes went wide, he laughed. “What, you didn't think I'd like it?”_ _

__“Never thought you'd go for discipline play,” she replied. “But I'm glad you do.”_ _

__Harry grinned at her, so she went over to kiss him._ _

__“Now, what do you have in mind for me? I'm all dressed up,” she said indicating the girlish dress that, without heels, fell to the correct length, “just for you.”_ _

__“Come here,” Harry said, pulling her down to him, leaning her against his chest her bum just off his thigh. He traced her impressive cleavage, so much more than had been contained in the dress of a fifteen-year-old girl. So much that it was barely contained now, and it would be so easy to tease her nipples over the line of the dress._ _

__“The date's over,” he whispered to her, “but it's too early to go home.” As he spoke one of his hands was sliding under her long skirts, pushing up until the material bunched at her hips. His hand slid up between her thighs and she spread her legs for him._ _

__Ron sat back and watched, enjoying the show as Harry touched Hermione and made her arch into his hand._ _

__“Be still,” Harry murmured, supporting her with the arm not attached to the hand between her legs. “You'll slip off if you wiggle.”_ _

__“Need to... Fuck, Harry, need to come,” Hermione panted, her little tease more than enough to get her hot, and with the spanking, she was going to be quick._ _

__“Tell me how much you need it,” Harry replied, not changing his pace and leaving her whimpering._ _

__“I need it, I need to come. Please, Harry, I need to come so bad...”_ _

__“Improper grammar, Miss Granger,” Ron said from the side using his Professor voice, “that's two more minutes of waiting.”_ _

__Hermione groaned. “Yes, Professor,” she said, panting as Harry slowed down and teased her now. “Oh, please, please, please let me come,” she begged Harry, the punishment immediately forgotten as Harry's fingers did something wicked and it took everything she had not to buck into his hand._ _

__“Should I let her come?” Harry asked turning to his friend._ _

__“Mm, not yet. She's not desperate for it yet,” Ron said. “When she makes this little mewling sound, then it's time.”_ _

__“Come tease her tits,” Harry said, looking down at the witch in his arms. “Pull down her dress.”_ _

__“Her tits are incredible,” Ron agreed, doing just that. “And she loves it when you press on her clit without moving. Drives her wild,” he added. “Do it when she's getting close and it acts like a delay-spell – she can go another fifteen, twenty minutes. Do it again and she'll be incoherent before she starts mewling. When she comes like that...” He grinned. “I'll help you hold her so she doesn't fall on her arse.”_ _

__“Noted.” Harry's fingers were pumping into her now, making her moan and plead. “Don't want her arse bruised by anything but a spanking.”_ _

__Ron laughed and palmed her breasts, making sure to capture her hard nipples between his fingers. Ron told him when to press on her clit, and Hermione moaned and whimpered and begged. A few other little tips and some of what Harry was trying on his own and she was mewling in far less than fifteen minutes._ _

__Hermione was in Heaven. How, exactly, this had happened, she wasn't sure – and given the state she was currently in she _didn't bloody care_ – but she was going to enjoy every minute of it. Her boys were driving her wild, making her want and need and – yes! – come. Come so hard she couldn't breathe. Come so hard she was wailing, then unable to make any noise at all. _And their hands didn't stop._ She cried out, “Stop! Stop, oh, too much! Too much!”_ _

__Harry moved his hand and smoothed her thighs, kissed her face, her lips. Ron released her breasts, pulled away from where he had been suckling, kissed her nipples, her breasts, then her cheek._ _

__“So beautiful,” he murmured._ _

__“So incredible,” Harry added._ _

__Hermione smiled at them, a blindingly happy, sated, exhausted smile._ _

__***_ _

__**July 7, 2021...tonight** _ _

__**In the sun.** _ _

__Three weeks passed before they were all three able to get together again. Between dinners with family, with children, work schedules, and a small crisis that involved Lily's possibly broken heart, that afternoon of debauchery had been the last visit the trio had enjoyed. The debauchery had been limited to the spanking and fingering to orgasm one Hermione Granger, but that had been more than enough. It had been completely natural to slip from those heated moments back to sorting photographs, even if Hermione had work the old ball gown and left her breasts on display for them._ _

__When she thought about it, which wasn't often, Hermione realized that having Ron there hadn't changed anything. Everything she had done, she would have done with Harry alone, or with Ron alone, and the fact that they were both there just made it feel...right._ _

__Just Ron alone, now that she was with Harry, wouldn't work. Just Harry alone without Ron, well, that was the order of the day. The two of them together with her..._ _

__So she was a slag-hag after all. She didn't bloody care. They were meeting again tonight at her cottage, and she had prepared a lovely little dinner that was really a lover's meal, meant to be shared and served by fingers. Two bottles of wine sat open and breathing, and all she was waiting on was the appearance of her boys._ _

__The Floo activated once, then again seconds later._ _

__Hermione gave Harry and Ron hugs, and Harry a nice kiss, too. “Come on,” she said, “dinner's in here.” With that, she led them into her private sanctuary, her cushy little room with a fireplace (not a Floo connexion), a single chair that had been pushed to the wall, a small side-table that joined the chair tonight, and a big, fluffy, cushion-charmed rug that was sinfully soft. The fur rug was very old, an antique that had come with the cottage, and a few little spells had it feeling like little strands of silk against skin. She and Ron had enjoyed this particular rug several times, so she knew that he, at least, knew what she was up to._ _

__The simple wrap dress was another clue. The light, pastel silk clung to her skin, showing a distinct lack of knickers or bra._ _

__Harry looked over at Ron. “Is she...doing what I think she's doing?” he asked._ _

__“You mean seducing us?” Ron asked, grinning at his friend. “Yep.” He slapped Harry on the shoulder, as they followed Hermione to her little room. “Enjoy it, mate. I know I will...” At Harry's look, the knowing expression changed to one of contrition and wistfulness. “Well, if you don't mind, that is.”_ _

__Harry thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don't mind.” He watched Hermione sink down on the rug and shrugged off his robes, seeing Ron do the same. “In fact,” he murmured for Ron's ears only, “I wonder how far she'll take it.”_ _

__“Only one way to find out,” Ron replied, realizing that something new had been created here, in this moment._ _

__Harry and Hermione were together – they would probably end up married – but he was as much a part of their relationship as they were._ _

__He hadn't lost her, after all. Instead, they had gained Harry. Somehow, that worked. Everything was right with the world, now, and his heart told him to do whatever he had to do to keep it that way._ _

__Hermione handed glasses of wine to her lovers and smiled, raising her glass. “To friendship and love, in all their forms. May we always be.”_ _

__“So mote it be,” Ron and Harry said together._ _

__Hermione looked at them. She set her wine to the side and reached out her hands. In a moment, both hands were taken, and she was in their arms, between them._ _

__It was where she belonged, after all. Where they all belonged._ _

__When the sun rose the next morning, it shone on an empty room, abandoned glasses and empty wine bottles, crumbs on plates and fur. Just down the hall, breathy laughter turned to sighs and soft moans as friends reaffirmed their status as lovers._ _


End file.
